


Earthly Comforts: Paradise

by tasteofshapes



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, rukia goes on a junk food binge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21077210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofshapes/pseuds/tasteofshapes
Summary: Rukia looks like she has always belonged here, here in his life, in his apartment, wearing his clothes and eating his food and sleeping on his sofa, and he can’t imagine a life where this doesn’t happen.





	Earthly Comforts: Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This is the extended, smutty version of [Earthly Comforts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270464/chapters/48457466). It's entirely self-indulgent smut (which was harder to write than I thought!) AND THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT.
> 
> If you like this, and you want to see more of it, may I suggest considering [following me on tumblr](https://tasteofshapes.tumblr.com/) \- there's a lot more content on there!

Rukia is a dedicated officer of Soul Society who diligently carries out their orders without fail. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself every time there’s another disturbance in Karakura Town, and she goes back, yet again, to the Living World. No one bothers to volunteer for any mission to Karakura Town anymore, not after the last Shinigami they sent to replace Rukia wrote back constant, daily reports complaining that he had nothing to do because Ichigo kept purifying all the Hollows that turned up.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, went the aggrieved reports, if Ichigo hadn’t also pretended he couldn’t see or hear the guy, and kept insulting him casually as if he wasn’t there. It was highly detrimental to morale, the reports further stated sadly, to have a seventeen year-old criticize your fighting style, honed after centuries of training, and then have the same kid announce to the general vicinity that he achieved Bankai in less than 3 days and then walk away as if he couldn’t see you.

Nobody wanted the Karakura posting after that.

So Karakura goes back to Rukia, although everyone knows that’s just a formality, given that Ichigo has taken it upon himself to guard the town, and she flits in and out of the two halves of her lives, going back to Soul Society every now and then to check in with her brother and her Division. Byakuya is silently disapproving, because he thinks that the Karakura posting is waste of her time and talents, but he doesn’t interfere except to drop pointed comments every once in a while about how Ichigo only ever seems to need _Rukia’s_ help in dealing with Hollows despite having coped perfectly fine on his own during those few months with the replacement, and oh, didn’t he also beat up half of Soul Society and save the world, or was that some other annoying orange-haired kid?

Every time that happens, Rukia just hides her smile and politely steers the conversation to safer waters. Byakuya, to his credit, always lets her. He’s learning how to be a brother, and learning how to navigate the territory that come along with it, and if Rukia is happy, then so be it.

And so now: this. This time, the gates open to the small cemetery that perches on top of a nearby hill. Karakura lies spread out underneath the afternoon sun, glittering faintly like a jewel. It’s the height of summer, and everything’s hot and humid. Crickets chirp in the undergrowth, and Rukia breathes in that heady scent of grass and soil, checks her mobile, and sets off.

The Hollows, when she finds them, are easily disposed of, and are not the sparing practice she’d hoped for. Afterwards, after she has cleaned her sword and double-checked to make sure that there’s no more unexpected surprises, she makes her way to Ichigo’s apartment. He lives just outside the town, near the local university where he attends, and an hour’s walk from the Kurosaki house. It had taken weeks of persuasion from his sisters before he was finally convinced that they wouldn’t fall apart without him if he moved out, and even longer before he finally found and settled on a place that wasn’t too far from the family home.

Ichigo has left his bedroom window open for her as usual. She scales the three stories easily and slips in to the fluttering of the curtains. The place is empty and quiet, and she guesses that he’s at class. Ichigo keeps his apartment tidy, and she spends a minute just walking around, re-familiarizing herself with his bedroom, his living room, his tiny kitchen.

It’s stifling in the small space. She throws open all the windows and turns on the fan, but she’s still sweaty in her uniform, so she heads to his bathroom and shucks her clothes for a shower. The cold water feels amazing against her skin, and she stays in there until the image of Ichigo bitching about his water bill pops into her head.

The idea of getting back into her sweaty clothes after her shower is unappealing, so she heads to Ichigo’s bedroom and takes the liberty of digging through his closet for something clean to wear. He has kept a collection of her dresses, but she bypasses them in favour of a pair of his boxers and an old shirt. It’s one of her favourites just because of the way it looked on him, stretched across that broad chest, and it smells so strongly of him that she can’t help closing her eyes as she inhales his scent. It’s oversized on her. The collar is stretched out from years of use and hangs slightly off one thin shoulder, and the hem of the shirt ends midway down her thighs.

Rukia heads back into the living room and settles herself into the sofa, digging around for the remote. She channel surfs for a while until she grows hungry, then pokes around in the kitchen until she finds Ichigo’s stash of junk food. He has eclectic tastes, so it’s all unusual flavours like pizza rice crackers and extra spicy tomato potato chips and sake Kit Kat. She fills her arms with an assortment of food and drink, then arranges her spoils around her on the sofa in a kind of junk food nest as she resumes channel surfing.

This is how Ichigo finds her when he finally walks in an hour later: half-asleep from her junk food binge and curled up into one corner of the sofa, crumbs everywhere, and a variety game show playing in the background. He’s not surprised to see her; he had sensed her as soon as she had stepped into the world, and had sat impatiently through the rest of his class, waiting for it to end.

The weak late afternoon light slants in through the open windows, giving the room a soft glow, and Ichigo takes a moment to look at Rukia, at her messy hair and unguarded face, at the seamless way she has slotted herself into his life. She looks like she has always belonged here, here in his life, in his apartment, wearing his clothes and eating his food and sleeping on his sofa, and he can’t imagine a life where this doesn’t happen.

His chest feels tight all of a sudden, and he can’t contain the sudden surge of his reiatsu. It leaps out and touches her, drapes itself over her in greeting, and Rukia grumbles something sleepily and stirs.

“Hey Rukia,” Ichigo says quietly, dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of her. Her shirt has slipped down one shoulder, exposing her collarbone, and his gaze is automatically drawn to that tantalizing stretch of bare skin.

Rukia sits up and stretches. “Hey Ichigo. How was class?”

“Eh, same as always. I go there and listen and stuff this thing with knowledge and smarts.” He raps his knuckles against the side of his head, smiling. “How were the Hollows?”

“Surprisingly easy. It’s strange though, they keep coming back to the same area. It feels like something’s drawing them there.”

“I wonder what,” Ichigo murmurs, still looking at her. His gaze is heavy and meaningful, and it makes her flush. “So, how long are you staying this time?”

Rukia shrugs, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Until they call me back. So… a while?”

“And where are you going to stay?”

“Well, your sofa is presently unoccupied, so I was thinking, here.”

“My bed’s unoccupied too,” he says, voice husky, and a promise in his eyes, and Rukia has to bite her lip to repress a shiver at the sudden spark of electricity that shoots through her body. Ichigo reads her thoughts and smirks at her, places his hands on the sofa on either side of her thighs and leans forward, his face tilted up to hers.

“Missed you,” he says softly, his face inches from hers.

“Missed you too,” she breathes, and meets him halfway. It’s a long, slow kiss; the kind of kiss that happens when two people who haven’t seen each other in months are slowly rediscovering each other again.

When they finally part, Ichigo’s eyes are dark and he pushes himself up onto the sofa, following her as she shifts and sinks back down, her head pillowed on the sofa arm. Empty wrappers crinkle around them, and he sweeps the remains of the nest off the sofa impatiently. Rukia laughs, soft and warm and _here_, and pulls him down for another kiss. Her shirt rides up and his hands drift down to her hips, fingering the waistband of her boxers. 

“I believe these are mine,” he says as he nuzzles her neck. He pulls at the elastic, tugging her boxers down one hip. “I’m going to have to ask for them back, Rukia.”

“Right now?” She huffs out a laugh, and feels him nod against her.

“Stealing is a crime, you know,” he says, even as his deft fingers are sliding her boxers down her thighs, one slow inch at a time. Obligingly, she lifts her hips to help him. “But I’m a generous person. I could be persuaded to overlook your little act of theft... for a price.” Then the boxers are off, and he tosses them over his shoulder in one quick motion.

“I stole your shirt too,” Rukia says, as he trails his fingers teasingly up her legs. Ichigo shifts himself down the sofa, nipping at the insides of her thighs, then soothing it with a kiss.

“Little thief,” he breathes against her skin, and then his deft fingers finds her entrance. She’s already wet, and he circles her clit teasingly before sliding a finger into her. He starts moving his finger slowly, watching her face.

She sighs, eyes closed, head thrown back in pleasure as he finger fucks her. “So is this my punishment?”

“Part of it,” he says, and she can’t stop the shiver of anticipation that runs down her body.

“I need to come back more often if this is the kind of welcome I get,” Rukia says.

“That’s the idea,” he says, and shifts himself further down the sofa. He lifts up her legs, slides them over his shoulders and replaces the finger working in and out of her with his tongue. He licks slowly up her centre, once, twice, and Rukia turns her face into the sofa, arching her hips up. 

“I want to hear you,” he says, voice ragged, and flicks her clit with his tongue. 

She shudders, so he does it again, slowly this time, and is rewarded with a long moan. She tastes sweet on his tongue as he licks slow, broad strokes up and into her, savouring the way her thighs tremble around him. Rukia’s moaning louder now, incoherent, and Ichigo smirks as he slips his fingers back into her: one, two. His free hand spreads her open as he alternates between licking where his fingers are sliding in and out of her, and sucking on her clit. He likes to take his time, likes to see her slowly fall apart from his tongue and his fingers, and Rukia knows it.

“Ichigo,” she pleads, one hand tangled into his hair, and he speeds up, pushing and twisting his fingers into her relentlessly as he sucks harder on her clit. Her whole body shakes, and then Rukia comes, shuddering around his fingers, his name on her lips. He continues sliding his fingers slowly into her for a few more moments as she comes down from her high, panting, and then she pulls him up into a kiss, tasting herself on him. 

“Did I mention that I ate your food as well,” she murmurs, and Ichigo laughs, wipes his sticky fingers on his shirt.

“You thieving freeloader. I’m gonna have to impose a heavier punishment for food theft, you know,” he says, and then dips his head and kisses her again. 

His mouth is hot and demanding, sucking at her bottom lip, and she can feel the shape of him pressing against her thigh through his pants. She tugs at his shirt and he pulls back to watch her, eyes dark, as she reaches for his zipper, works his pants down. He moves back and kicks off his pants and boxers, strips off his shirt, and flings them away. 

She laughs at his eagerness, but when she makes to take her shirt off as well, he says, “don’t.”

“Oh?”

“I want to fuck you while you wear my shirt.” His voice is low, and she shivers in anticipation, _yes_. She lies back into the sofa and he settles between her spread legs, his cock brushing against her thighs, his arms resting on either side of her head.

“Well,” she says when he doesn’t move, “what are you waiting for?”

Ichigo smirks at her. “For you to beg,” he says, and then he’s pressing his cock into her slowly. 

She’s dripping, still wet from coming earlier, and he slides in easily. He’s been waiting so long for this and she’s so wonderfully warm and tight around him that all he wants to do is press her into sofa and start fucking her senseless, but he holds back because Rukia likes this part the best, likes it when he first enters her, likes feeling him sink inch by inch into her.

She lets out a quiet moan as his cock pushes in all the rest of the way, filling her up, and Ichigo groans too. He can’t help the shallow thrusts that his hips make, feeling the way her body clenches around him, and then Rukia grabs his arms and says, “Damnit, Ichigo, _move_.”

He takes that as permission and withdraws almost all the way, and then slams into her in one quick motion. Rukia lifts one leg and wraps it around his waist, moans, “come on Ichigo, fuck me like you know you want to,” and then he’s pressing her wrists into the sofa cushion, holding her down as his hips slam hard and fast against hers. 

She has her eyes closed, gasping in pleasure every time his cock slides home. He loves how she looks, knowing that he’s reduced her to this: her legs spread obscenely open for him, her dark hair sprayed out over the sofa cushions like a halo, wrecked moans coming from her lips every time he drives his cock into her.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” He’s panting harshly, gripping her wrists so hard he knows it’ll leave marks.

“Yes,” Rukia cries out, breathless, her body arching up to meet his. Her shirt rides further up her body every time his hips snap against hers, and he reaches down, slides a hand under her crumpled shirt to play with a nipple. 

“You feel so good, Rukia, you’re so tight,” Ichigo groans, senseless - he’s begun to fuck her wildly, hard. All it takes is a few well angled thrusts, and then Rukia’s making a high, helpless noise as the slide of his cock inside her tips over into a wave of pleasure. She clenches tight around him and comes, her body shaking, crying out his name. He fucks her through it without stopping until he toes the edge of his own release. 

Ichigo pants out, “I’m going to come inside you now,” and waits for her to say, “yes, _yes_,” and then he fucks into her sharply, two, three times, and comes in a hot rush inside her. He lets out a long, low groan, dropping his head to bury his face in the crook of her shoulder, shuddering, and collapses on top of her, his hips still jerking sporadically as he rides through the last waves of pleasure.

Afterwards, they lie in each others’ arms, too spent to move from the sofa. Rukia’s still wearing his shirt and he slides his hand underneath her shirt, traces the curve of her back, marvelling once again at how deceptively delicate she looks, her head resting on his chest and rising with every inhale that he takes. The room is going grey, the light fading out of the world, and Ichigo wants this moment to last forever.

“Your thoughts are so loud,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, hair messy and eyes sleepy, the shirt slipping off one shoulder. Ichigo can’t help himself as he wraps an arm around her and captures her mouth with his. It’s a long, slow kiss, and he tries to tell her with his lips what he wants to say aloud.

“I love you too,” she murmurs when they part. “And I might have used up all your hot water.”

He laughs, says, “I know just how you can make it up to me. Later. After dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
